


Lockdown, Part 1

by skivvysupreme



Series: The Cuffed Verse [7]
Category: Glee
Genre: Cheerio Blaine, M/M, Skank Kurt Hummel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the years-old rage rolling hot through his body, Kurt does not tell his dad that it is far too late to avoid being hurt by assholes like the ones he fought today. Instead, he yells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lockdown, Part 1

**_Kurt Hummel is in a relationship with Blaine Anderson._ **

Kurt reads and rereads the words over and over. They coat him in this warm, buzzy, weightless feeling like maybe none of this is real—and, to be honest, this is something Kurt hadn’t thought would happen while he was stuck living in Ohio. But he can still feel Blaine holding his body in a phantom, intangible way, can still smell raspberries and laundry detergent and some clean, expensive cologne that fills Kurt’s senses when Blaine is close, and you can’t just make up the _scent_ of a person, can you? You can’t make up his laugh, or the sound of him trying not to cry and crying anyway, or the feel of his ass under your hands, or the way he breathes when he’s about to come, or how deep the color of his eyes turns when he’s worried about you.

“You got a boyfriend?” his dad asks. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

“Relax, Dad. It just happened.”

“’Just happened?’ Like you tripped and fell and when you landed you had a boyfriend?”

Kurt grins, feels his cheeks going pink. “That’s not inaccurate.”

“When did you meet him?”

“…Thursday.”

Burt stares at Kurt for a long while, eyebrows raised, before he sighs, “Well I can’t say I don’t believe in love at first sight. Hell, it’s happened to me twice.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and shoves his phone in his pocket, heading to the kitchen with his dad following behind him. “Who said anything about love?”

“You did, with that dopey look you’ve had on your face all weekend. Oh, excuse me, I mean, _since Thursday_.”

Kurt shrugs and throws his bag on the table, that dopey look creeping into his smile again as he fiddles anxiously with his nose ring.

Burt pulls four slices of bread from the breadbox and puts them in the toaster. “So. Tell me about him.”

 _He likes it when I say his name in bed._ “His name is Blaine.” _He has really sensitive nipples._ “He transferred to McKinley from private school.” _He’s a boxer, but I don’t think he likes fighting._ “He’s the junior class president.” _He does this thing to my neck that turns me into a needy mess and I hate him for it and I want him to do it again._ “He’s really sweet.” _He’s the most attractive boy I’ve ever met and he likes getting me off._

“And that’s why you’re dating him already?”

 _I’ve never felt so safe._ “He… he treats me like I matter, Dad.”

At this, Burt grins and pulls a jar of orange marmalade from the fridge to spread on the toast. “Well, all right then. That’s what I like to hear. When do I get to meet him?”

“Dad, don’t, not yet,” Kurt groans, joining him at the counter when the toast pops back up. He spreads a thin layer of the orange jelly on his two slices. “Blaine’s really great, don’t push it. I’m okay.”

“Fighting at school, though. All of a sudden. Doesn’t sound okay to me.”

“I’m _fine_ , seriously—”

“Kurt. Listen. I’m proud of you for defending yourself. And holding your own ‘til it broke up, ‘cause this could’ve been worse with three-on-one. But don’t go picking fights. Figgins said those boys told him you threw the first punch, and that you didn’t deny it, and I can’t have you doing dangerous stuff like that. They could’ve seriously hurt you.”

Despite the years-old rage rolling hot through his body, Kurt does not tell his dad that is far too late to avoid being hurt by assholes like the ones he fought today. Instead, he yells, “I did not pick that fight! They cornered me when I was alone like the cowards they are. They were threatening me and making fun of Blaine and—“

“What does Blaine have to do with this?”

Kurt takes an angry bite of his toast, chewing harder than necessary in agitation. “They ambushed him on Friday. The same spineless, bitch-bully shit, they got him on his own, four of them. And he was so…” _Upset. Cracked-open. Hopeless._ “They can’t keep doing this to us.”

Burt sighs, and it’s one of those weary, chest-emptying sighs with way too much history behind it and ahead of it. “They got him ‘cause he’s gay,” he says, not bothering to make it a question.

“They saw us. Kissing. And then they went after him to teach him a lesson. He didn’t tell me exactly what they said to him, but I have a fair idea.” Kurt finishes his toast and snatches a paper towel off the roll hanging above the kitchen sink.

Burt removes his baseball cap, scratches his head, and puts the cap back on. “Kurt…”

“Am I grounded?” Kurt asks, flatly.

“Yeah, but not as punishment. Just take this week to get your head clear, all right? You always feel better after you get some time to yourself.”

“Feel better? How am I supposed to feel better about this? And my head is perfectly clear, thank you very much!”

“You’ve never been in a fight like this before, and now this boy gets involved and you’re throwin’ elbows in the hallways? You made it personal, and that made you reckless. You gotta take a step back.”

“This wasn’t just about Blaine! God, you sound just like him! Of course it was personal! Would you rather I started brawling in the cafeteria for no reason?”

Burt puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “I get it, Kurt.”

“No, you don’t!”

Then it’s both hands on Kurt’s shoulders as Burt tries to level with him. “I do. Really. But I need you to be careful, all right? I can’t be worried about you when you’re at school, of all places.”

 _No one worrying about me when I was at school is how we got to this point_ , Kurt thinks bitterly, but he knows what his dad means, and he stops fuming for a moment and looks him in the eye. This is the second time today he’s had to bear the weight of other people’s concern for his well-being, and Kurt doesn’t know how to handle it. Oh, god, his dad’s going to _love_ Blaine, isn’t he? Up until this point, Kurt would have thought that was a great thing.

Kurt nods, stepping forward to hug him, and says softly, “Okay.”

*****

Kurt’s up in his room, lounging in a black t-shirt with his ankles exposed beneath the hems of Blaine’s sweatpants, when the doorbell rings. It takes him a moment to figure out who it could be, and then—

“Shit!” Kurt rolls off the bed and bolts to the front door, trying not to trip down the stairs. His dad has just reached the entryway when Kurt slides across the hardwood floor in his socks, yelling, “I GOT IT! Dad, I got it, go back to _Alaska State Troopers_ or whatever you were watching.”

Burt takes a few steps back but he doesn’t leave the foyer, instead choosing to fold his arms and lean against the nearest wall with an amused smirk on his face. When it becomes clear that he really doesn’t plan on moving, Kurt sighs, runs his fingers through his hair to get some sort of style back into it, and opens the door just enough to place his own face in the open space.

“Hi, Kurt,” Blaine says, sunshine personified, his eyes bright greenish-gold honey in the afternoon light. His grin falters a little when he looks at the bruise on Kurt’s face, but he can see that Kurt isn't in pain or anything.

“Hey,” Kurt says back, moving to tilt his head against the door frame and accidentally hitting it against the wood a lot louder and harder than he means to.

He hears his dad chuckle behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

Blaine reaches down and opens the flap of the brown leather satchel slung over his chest, holding it so that Kurt can see the extra textbooks shoved inside like they’re in a supremely nerdy drug deal. “I brought your homework! I don’t want you to get behind because of me.”

“It wouldn’t be because of you,” Kurt says, the phrase turning robotic at this point. “Stop trying to take the blame for this.”

Blaine shrugs, cheerful in a way that says _Haha! I’m going to, anyway!_ as he barrels on, “Coach Sue let me into your locker so I could get the books, I hope I didn’t miss anything. I couldn’t find your French book, so I hope you already have that… There’s biology, calc—a lot of calc homework, actually, and—oh! Your American history teacher had a lot for you, too, there’s kind of a backup of work here…"

Kurt gestures frantically with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils for Blaine to _shut the fuck up_ , but—

“Hi, Blaine,” Burt says, pulling the door all the way open, and he steps onto the porch and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Kurt’s dad.”

Blaine backs up in surprise, then tries to remember his manners and shakes Burt’s hand. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Hummel.” He’s so nervous, his attempt at a pleasant smile just looks like a vaguely nauseous grimace, even as his eyes go a bit manic. He grips the strap of his bag, chancing a glance at Kurt, who looks back at him with an anxious little smile of his own.

“You can call me Burt.”

“Um, no, I don’t think I can, Mr. Hummel.”

“Fair enough. What’s this backup of homework, huh?”

“Gearing up for a big test, she assigns a lot at once, Dad,” Kurt says quickly. “So, thanks Blaine, I’ll take that homework now—“

“Hey, why are you rushing him off the porch?” Burt laughs, ruffling Kurt’s pink hair despite the aggravated squawk Kurt makes. “Blaine, we were just about to order Chinese, how’d you like to stay for dinner? It’s just the three of us tonight.”

Blaine looks to Kurt, watching his face for some kind of signal, but Kurt just stares, blank-faced under his unfortunately tousled hair, his heart thumping double-time against his ribcage. He wants Blaine around as much as possible— _Fucking Anderson, god damn it, Kurt Hummel is not clingy—_ but a dinnertime interrogation doesn’t sound desirable in any way, shape, or form. Kurt doesn’t even know what he wants Blaine to do. He raises an eyebrow, as if to ask, _Ready for this?_

Blaine tilts his head and bites his lip, blinking up at Kurt through his eyelashes, a timid sort of _Are you okay with that?_

Kurt keeps his grin small, shrugging as his telltale dimples say, _I wouldn’t hate it._

Blaine straightens his back, arms himself with the most polite, charming smile he can muster, and nods at his boyfriend’s father, who has been watching their silent exchange with his mouth slightly open.

“Thank you, Mr. Hummel. I’d love to.”

TBC


End file.
